


My Body's Broken, Yours Is Bent

by jugandbettsdetectiveagency



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dark!Jughead, F/M, Orgasm Delay, Possessiveness, dark!betty, so yeah this happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 17:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11696418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jugandbettsdetectiveagency/pseuds/jugandbettsdetectiveagency
Summary: Carve your name into my arm, instead of stressed I lie here charmed.





	My Body's Broken, Yours Is Bent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jandjsalmon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jandjsalmon/gifts).



> If Jandy wants a dark!jug then who am I do deny her?

_Carve your name into my arm_  
_Instead of stressed I lie here charmed_  
_Cause there's nothing else to do_  
_Every me and every you_

**– Every Me and Every You, Placebo**

~

Watching her through the window was a favourite pastime of his, and not just since moving into Archie’s room full time. Whenever Jughead had been hanging out with his best friend his eyes would drift to the glass pane, hoping to catch a glimpse of the blonde girl who’d captured his attention for as long as he could recall.

Sometimes there was nothing. Other times he was rewarded with the view of Betty Cooper, walls down, armour removed. His fingers itched with the desire to run through her loose golden waves, only free from the tight restraint of their hair tie once she was alone and without responsibility. On occasion he’d thank whatever force controlled the universe for a flash of the curve of her ass beneath her skirt, a glimpse at the side of her breast as she pulled her sweater over her head and unclasped her bra before wandering away. Always just out of view, and entirely out of reach.

He didn’t think Archie noticed his little viewing parities – if he did he hadn’t said anything – but Jughead wouldn’t care if he had. He felt as if his need for Betty Cooper was tangible, rolling off his skin in crashing waves, pulling him under the current and crushing his chest with the weight. He was sure that his breathlessness filled the air, that the pounding of his heart rang just as loudly in his friend’s ears as it did his own.

It was a Thursday when their timelines merged seamlessly again to allow him front row seats to his favourite show. The purple bruises around Jughead’s wrists were still blooming despite his father having been crashed out on their couch for hours now. Fred let Jughead in early, silently noticing the way he clutched at the sleeves of his shirt to keep him in place, telling him Archie would be back from hanging out with his football buddies soon enough. Archie’s room was practically Jughead’s room anyway, his view was Jughead’s view. Only, Jughead was far more interested in what it had to offer. He needed the sweet morphine drip that watching her could give him.

Betty was there, waiting for him behind her raised curtain, audience: party of one. Only she wasn’t alone this time. Betty sat on her floral bedspread, long legs curled underneath her as she grasped at Polly’s hand in desperation. If Jughead squinted his could see the way her lamplight cause the moisture in her eyes to glisten verdantly, see the way her lower lip trembled, teeth catching the raw flesh in an attempt to still its quivering. Jughead’s tongue came out to wet his own lips, wishing he could run it along hers instead.

Polly sat next to her sister, hands gesturing wildly as she explained something to Betty with an excited fervour, eventually settling over her abdomen with maternal affection. Betty shook her head, ponytail whipping her dampened cheeks harshly as it swung with the movements.

His gut clenched with the need to fix it.

***

Jughead remembered the first time he saw that ponytail, golden tendrils perfectly slicked back and curled as the little four year old girl skipped across into Archie’s front yard.

“Who’s this, Archie?” she’d asked, bold and inquisitive as only children could be. The small boy with the knitted beanie too big for his head looked up shyly, blinking in wake of the brightness she radiated. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so _clean_ before. She looked as if been primped and preened like a prize pony, ready for her next showcase.

“This is my friend Jughead,” the redheaded boy informed her with a grin, passing one of his toy cars off to the quiet boy. Jughead took the miniature Chevy, turning it over in his hands while he avoided her scrutinising gaze. He was old enough to realise that people who looked like this girl usually belonged to parents who crossed the street when him and his dad walked by. He didn’t know why yet, he just knew it was a regular occurrence. The next words out of her mouth sent the truck tumbling to the dirt.

“Can he be my friend, too?” Her emerald eyes shone with hope, and Jughead could feel their warmth taking root and sprouting in his chest. Archie shrugged, not noticing the small epiphany happening to his friend beside him.

“I don’t know, ask _him_ ,” Archie told her as he ran inside to answer his mother’s sudden call.

Jughead watched with bated breath as the little girl crept closer, her smile mirroring that of someone trying to approach a flighty animal. She crouched down, her small knees sinking into the mud.

“I’m Betty Cooper. Do you want to be my friend?” she asked, holding out a hand for him to shake. She’d seen her daddy do this whenever people came over to visit her parents, assuming that it was the right thing to do in the situation. Jughead eyed the outstretched limb warily, but she held her ground, not one to back down.

Jughead slipped his grubby fingers into hers, shaking it limply. When they parted he saw his dirty fingerprints on her unblemished skin.

“Yes please,” he murmured, faltering as a blinding grin spread across her face.

“Good! Do you know where the pink car is? It’s my favourite. When I grow up I want to be just like Lady Penelope.” Jughead grinned back as he passed her the toy, listening intently to the rules of the game she was insisting they play, barely noticing when Archie returned to join the fun.

Their game of _Thunderbirds_ was uneventful until Betty’s shriek rang out across the yard. Jughead darted from his hiding spot to see her sprawled in the grass, clutching her knee, cheeks shining with trails of forlorn tears.

“Mommy!” Archie yelled with panicked eyes, sprinting inside the house to fetch her. Jughead froze, eyes wide as he watched the golden angel crumple into the dirt. He crawled across the yard towards her, stopping with his face inches from the wound. Betty watched him cautiously, lower lip jutted out and trembling with each shuddering sob she tried to suppress but let out anyway.

Jughead wasn’t sure why she was crying so much; he was never allowed to cry when he was hurt. Cuts and bruises were just a sign that his dad still loved him, still cared enough to get angry. That’s what he said, later at night when his voice got all slurry and his eyes all watery, tucking Jughead beneath his arm and mumbling with hot breath into the top of his head, until his breathing evened out and his arm around Jughead’s neck became too heavy.

He watched as Betty continued to snivel. The scrape was covered in the flecks of mud and the lime hue of a grass stain, but that strongly resembled the fading bruise on Jughead’s ribs. A drop of deep crimson welled slowly, budding into a bead that soon became too heavy and ran down the ivory slope of her shin. Jughead leant forwards, pressing his lips gently to the cut like he’d seen other moms do at the playground. When he pulled back his lips were smeared with her blood. Betty watched with unbridled curiosity, her eyes focusing on the red smudge.

“It’s all better now,” he stated, voice firm. She nodded in reply, as if him saying so made it true.

“Thank you, Juggie,” she mumbled, swiping a fist beneath her damp eyes. Jughead licked his lips just as Mary Andrews came running out of the house with the first aid kit in hand, tasting a metallic tang on his tongue.

Jughead Jones would always be there to lick Betty Cooper’s wounds.

As they grew up, every time she fell, every time her parent’s expectations became too much, he was there to tell her it was _all better_. And she always believed him. It was as if the taste of her blood slipping into his system that day cemented something within him, an ownership that refused to be renounced.

 

***

Archie. It was supposed to be Archie.

_“Betty and Archie are endgame.”_

_“Tell Archie how you feel about him!”_

_“I think Archie likes you back. Didn’t you see the way he was smiling at you in biology?”_

_“Do you think Archie will ask you to the dance?”_

The people of Riverdale had spoken, repeatedly, and Betty Cooper was to one day become Betty Andrews, move across the road into the white, suburban house identical to the cage in which she been raised – that she grew too big for – and pop out two point five redheaded little darlings probably named Wendy, John and Michael.

Time stood still in the cul-de-sacs of Riverdale and it smothered her.

 _How did she feel about Archie?_ she wondered idly as she watched him during football practise from her spot at the foot of the bleachers. She loved him, he was her best friend. He made her laugh and roll her eyes and said inappropriate things at the most appropriate times. He was loyal and cute and beginning to sound a bit like a Labrador, even in her own thoughts. But he was apparently her only option.

Betty crossed one ankle over the other, head tilted contemplatively as she twirled her ponytail around a finger, lip rolling between her teeth in thought. She watched the way his biceps bulged as he caught the ball. She observed how the muscles in his thighs bunched as he ran with sure-fire determinism across the field. She focused on the river of sweat that darkened his fiery red locks and ran in tantalising droplets down his temples, over his cheekbones after he pulled off his helmet to take a drink, Adam’s apple bobbing slowly. She imagined the salty trace they would leave on her tongue if she licked them away, following the divots of his skin until she could curl the muscle around the ridges of his ear to tell him how much she wanted this.

Betty sighed as she squeezed her thighs together, underwear beneath her cheerleading bloomers dry.

She loved Archie. She even loved the idea of him, them, together. But her body was telling her otherwise. He did not ignite that small patch of kindling she’d been building away from prying eyes, away from her mother, gathering fuel quietly and carefully until all of a sudden it had been doused in lighter fluid and had a match flung into its berth.

No. Instead of the comforting depths of liquid chocolate waiting for her in Archie’s warm gaze, Betty found herself plunging into the ice-laden waters of the bright blue stare she caught watching her from the shadows of Archie’s bedroom – Archie’s _shared_ bedroom.

It was like that feeling when you just know someone is watching you. Betty never dared look directly, never gave the satisfaction. Just the knowledge that Jughead was out there, silently focused on her every move, sent shivers down her spine as she took off her sweater, arching her back just so, never quite giving the full view away. She bit her lip as she moved out of view – she knew it was wrong but it gave her such a power trip, to feel that in control of someone else when half the time she was barely in control of herself. But also it was a performance, and for the first time it was one she enjoyed giving. Without even communicating it’s like she knew what he wanted from her, what she was willing to give.

In public, Jughead was so _sweet_. His biting humour and sardonic comments were undercut with those wide eyed looks her gave her when no one else noticed she was hurting, running his thumb over her clenched fist beneath the table at _Pop’s_ with a questioning brow raised. She’d offer him her best reassuring smile and he’d slip his strawberry onto the rim of her vanilla shake. He’d know she was stressed when loose tendrils of hair fell from her usually slick ponytail and tuck the strands behind her ear, fingers lingering for a beat on the soft apple of her cheek.

And yet…

“Hey, B Coops!” Betty winced as Chuck’s voice hollered at her from the end of the hallway. She took a deep breath behind her locker door before plastering a Cooper-watt smile across her face and turning to greet him.

“Hi, Chuck,” she replied pleasantly. He leant his shoulder against the metal next to her, effective blocking her path. He crossed one leg over the other, confident smirk gracing his features. Objectively, she knew how attractive and _desirable_ the football player was – unfortunately, so did he. Betty tried to resist the snort that threatened to leave her as his eyes trailed over her cheer uniform.

“So, it’s Friday,” he began, as if she wasn’t already aware. She nodded, pressing her lips together. “Some might say that’s date night, and since I don’t have a date and you don’t have a date, how about we do each other a favour?” He took a step closer, crowding Betty against her locker.

“How do you know I don’t have a date?” she said defiantly, eyes glancing around the empty corridor for an out. He was definitely getting a little too close for comfort.

“Yeah, and who would that be with?” Chuck retorted unkindly and Betty bristled, nails poised to break the plush skin of her palms. She couldn’t fathom how this was supposed to make her want to go out with him; she’d heard of ‘negging’ but couldn’t believe that any guy thought it would actually work. “Jughead, over here?” he sneered. “Even you wouldn’t stoop that _low_.”

Betty’s eyes snapped in the direction he indicated. Jughead had appeared a few feet away from them, not even his footsteps announcing his presence. The look in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat, sparks tingling beneath her skin. He looked murderous as his stare raked over the scene before him, zeroing in on the way Chuck’s hands were creeping towards Betty’s hips. Betty swallowed visibly, unable to tear her eyes away from the glint in his.

“Why not with Jughead?” she managed to squeak out. She saw the surprise register in the dark haired boy’s face at her question, barely cracking the furious mask currently in place. The corner of her lips tilted up almost imperceptibly as she felt that ever increasing desire to have control creeping back in, fingers uncurling slowly.

Chuck jolted back slightly, looking between the two of them incredulously. “Seriously?” he scoffed. “Wow, guess you’re just as desperate as your sister,” he muttered, shaking his head. Betty saw red.

“What the hell did you say?” she seethed, straightening. She saw Jughead take a tiny step closer but didn’t turn to acknowledge him. Chuck didn’t reply. “Get out of here, Chuck. Before I kill you.” Jughead stood, unmoving, behind her shoulder.

“Fuck, you’re freaks, both of you,” Chuck breathed, backing down the corridor, not taking his eyes off the pair until he’d rounded the corner.

The tight grip of Jughead’s hand around her wrist was like a bucket of ice water. Betty gasped, turning to him with ashamed tears blurring her vision. Jughead’s wide blown pupils knocked all the wind from her as he looked down at her with barely concealed desire. She squeezed her thighs together.

“Stay away from him, Betty. He could hurt you,” Jughead warned, voice impossibly low. He was caught somewhere between the Jughead she’d grown up with, the one that was impossibly quiet yet caring, and a new Jughead who was only just making himself known to her, one she couldn’t help but gravitate towards. The pressure of his hold on her increased but she didn’t cry out.

“You’d always make it better, Juggie,” she breathed. “You always make it better.”

The sound of footsteps rounding the corner tore them apart, Jughead letting her arm go. By the time Betty turned back to look at him he was disappearing through the doors. She glanced down at her wrist, still throbbing as the blood flooded back into her veins, the imprints of his fingers circling the skin and she never wanted them to fade.

She knew he was watching now, as she changed into her sleep shorts, giving him just enough but not all. Something had awoken in her though, and there was a hunger deep in her stomach for what more she could have.

Betty tiptoed over to her window and caught his eye. She waited to see if he’d disappear, scrambling from view at being caught, but he didn’t. Jughead just met her eyes with equal steadiness. She made a show of barely pulling her curtains closed, lifting the window just an inch or two – an invitation.

She climbed under the covers, anticipation spiralling through her body.

***

Jughead climbed lithely up the ladder with what seemed like practiced ease. It was as if his body had been fine tuned for this exact moment, to be able to reach the slumbering princess in her tower without incurring the wrath of the smouldering dragon.

One of the weathered rungs bowed slightly beneath his weight and Jughead’s breath caught, knowing he was so close to his desired target. If the old wood snapped now he knew it would be a sign from the universe, trying to keep him away from the alabaster angel just beyond the glass pane. Because he wasn’t the white knight coming to her rescue. He was tainted and twisted, cold and cavalier, and everything but her saviour. He was the miscreant, the villain - no one wanted him to succeed in his ignoble quest.

The wood creaked then settled, and he always knew the universe was a sick son of a bitch. Jughead finally allowed his lungs to deflate as he took a few more steps upwards and came face to face with the view he’d only ever seen from afar through the open curtains. He could make out the time on her clock, the patch of worn away fur on Caramel’s head, count the number of highlighters scattered over her desk. And then there was her.

Betty’s face was turned away from the window, flaxen hair strewn in tangled waves across her floral pillow. The sheets were pulled up just above her breasts despite the heat of the night, clinging to her curves with sweat as she shifted atop the mattress. The covers tented as her knees rose up, head rolling towards him, eyes scrunched closed and teeth torturing her lower lip. Jughead paused, his fingers curling round the wood of the partially open window as a shuddery gasp escaped her in the form of his name.

“Juggie.”

The whimper set his blood simmering beneath the surface in only the way his blinding anger had done before, his body stilling while his dick twitched. He could tell, from the roll of her shoulder, the hint of a flush at the base of her throat, the rustle of cotton on cotton as she squirmed, that her hand had wandered beneath the elastic of her panties, exploring the wetness she found there with thoughts of him playing behind her eyelids.

Jughead wondered how many times she’d done this before. How many times had she slipped her fingers inside of herself, biting back moans and risking being caught despite the darkness of the night? Everything was so still in the Cooper household - he wondered if Alice was a light sleeper. His dad was, lured by the gripping talons of too many mixed liquors into a fitful but deep sleep. Alice, too, seemed like just the high strung type to mix her Valium with her vino before bed.

Betty’s moans were getting more frequent, higher in pitch, as she brought herself closer to the edge. The pressure was building between Jughead’s legs as he watched - always, always from a distance - desperate to see more. Drops of sweat beaded against her temples in the pale moonlight as he lifted the window the rest of the way up and let himself inside. Betty continued on her task, hips lifting from the bed, not noticing his imposing presence through the fog of pleasure pounding in her ears. He wasn’t sure if he was reading her signals right, if this is what she had wanted. Surely, she couldn’t…

“What are you thinking about?” His voice pierced the air, thick and broken, still deep despite barely breaching a whisper. Betty’s eyes snapped open with a gasp, all movements stilling as her gaze searched for his in the darkness. Jughead expected her to scream, to curse him out for invading her privacy, for watching her touch herself with unabashed desire lacing his stare, or perhaps turn a deep shade of crimson as she retracted her hand swiftly and stammered an excuse.

What he did not expect was for Betty to hold his eyes, release a shuddery exhale, and continue.

“You,” she breathed, chin jutting out as if she dared him to be disgusted. “I was so close,” she whined, movements picking up their speed. Jughead kicked off his boots and crawled onto the bed, settling by her feet as he placed his hands on her bent knees. He fisted the fabric, tugging it down her body to reveal the sight below. He had to see.

“Slower,” he commanded, surprised when she only whimpered and did as he said. The sheet was finally bunched between them, no longer an unwelcome obstruction. He looked over her parted lips, her heaving chest barely concealed by a thin, white tank top, all the way down to her pink, cotton panties, one hand buried sinfully inside. There was a damp spot on the fabric still, and his mind was flooded with images of her working up to this moment, teasing herself over the garment until she had to feel more. He’s sure there’s a patch just like it on his own boxers now, hands tightening around the floral fabric he was still gripping as that very same desire spurs him to continue. “What about me?” he asked.

“You were holding my wrists like you did in the hall at school, too tight, telling me that I was yours,” she gasped, legs falling further apart as he prowled closer. Jughead ran his hands down the slopes of her smooth thighs, fingers and thumbs slotting against the crease on either side of her groin, framing the V-shaped apex like a prize landscape.

“You liked it.” It wasn’t a question. She nodded anyway, eyelids fluttering as she brought herself closer to her high again. If he stilled his breath he could hear the faint slick sounds of her ministrations filtering through the air. His fingers wrapped around her wrist firmly, halting her movements as he squeezed hard enough to bruise. Betty voiced her protests, bucking her hips gently, only to have him push them firmly into the springs. She shifted, finding herself rendered immobile beneath his hold, aiding the ache between her thighs.

“Jug, please,” she crooned, unable to care about how pathetic she sounded in her pleading.

“I need to see you.” He hooked his thumbs over the edge of her panties and dragged them slowly down her legs. Her fingers glistened in the light allowed in by the curtains, hovering just above where she was swollen and desperate, unwilling to disobey him. “Touch yourself, Betty. But don’t come,” he added, with a hint of a threat, when her fingers immediately lowered to circle her clit.

She understood what he wanted from her; he came for a show.

Betty let the weight of her legs pull her knees further apart, feeling the stretch in her muscles as she laid herself open for him. Her fingers slipped down, running through her slick folds while looking up at him with a hooded stare. His features were schooled into a stoic expression, but the slight flare in his nostrils gave away his struggling restraint as he let himself watch, one hand hovering subconsciously over his crotch. Betty pulled her lower lip between her teeth, arching her back to present him with the sight of her firm breasts, hardened buds of her nipples straining against her top. She allowed a shaky sigh to permeate the room as the tip of her forefinger dipped into her opening before retreating. Her hips give chase despite herself, far too wound up to hide her want.

Jughead’s fingers tickled the backs of her thighs as he gripped them securely, keeping them in place while he pushed against the tight muscles of her groin to widened them even further, the burn of the stretch eliciting a delicate whine from the back of her throat.

Betty’s hand came back up to circle her sensitive bundle of nerves, slowly just like he’d asked, although she could feel her will power beginning to slip with every brush of her fingertip.

“How close are you, Betts?” he growled, eyes fixed to where she was flushed with arousal.

“Almost there,” she managed to reply, voice already wrecked. Jughead felt himself twitch within the confines of his jeans. Her whimpers picked up in frequency, hips jerking beneath his hold.

“Stop,” he commanded. He was surprised when she complied, pulling her hand away from her core and immediately fisting it in the pink sheets below her. He was impressed, seeing how she was dripping with desire. “You can control yourself right, Betts?” he whispered, dipping down so his cool breath fanned across the heat between her thighs. He heard her unsteady inhale and bit the flesh next to his ear to hide his smirk.

“Yes,” she eventually replied, looking down at him with hooded eyes. She watched, enraptured, as he undid his jeans, groaning in relief when the pressure of his zipper against his erection released. Betty licked her lips as he ran his fist over the rigid flesh and he had to exert all of his effort to not just give in then.

Jughead gathered both of her wrists in his hands, pining them above her head, making sure to put enough pressure on the skin to leave his mark, just like she wanted. He lowered himself over the length of her body, resting his dick between her legs. He could feel her trembling with the need to buck up against him, seeking the friction she so desperately needed.

“You can move, Betty,” he whispered in her ear, her deep pants hitting his shoulder. “Just as long as you don’t come,” he reminded lightly, despite how tight the coil in his stomach was wound.

Betty rocked up against him, crying out from how sensitive she still was. She took a steadying breath and tried again, focusing all her energy on making Jughead feel good. She traced the little crease between his brows as he grunted at the feeling of her, hot and slippery, below him, working to get him towards his release. He knew he could let go now if he’d let himself, the image of his arousal laying in ribbons across the smooth expanse of her stomach causing him to clench his teeth in an effort to hold back.

He ducked down, catching her stiff nipple between his teeth, working his tongue over it through the thin fabric.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Betty moaned, clamping her legs around Jughead’s hips as she began to rock quicker, losing any sense of rhythm while falling victim to all the sensations he was providing her with. “Jug, I can’t… I need to–” she stammered, back bowed in a tight arch, tension ready to snap as soon as he let her.

“Soon,” he panted, moving one of his hands between them, gripping his dick to rub his leaking tip firmly against her clit. Her face twisted as a guttural whine slipped from between her lips, far too loud in the quiet of the house. Jughead didn’t care though as they both hurtled towards their release, Betty looked completely ruined beneath him, _by_ him. “Now, Betty,” he ordered as he felt himself tip over the edge, painting the planes of her exposed torso just like he imagined.

Betty shuddered as she came, his name tearing from her throat, hairline damp with sweat, also pooling in her collarbones. Jughead collapsed on top of her and she held him close, needing the feeling of his weight crushing her.

 

***

“…and she says they’re going to run away and raise the baby together on some farm, like they’ve found the secret to the American Dream or something,” she confessed into the crook of his neck sometime later. His fingers soothed the red skin of her wrist, her hand clutching at his shirt over his chest.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he consoled. She blew out a harsh breath against his skin.

“It’s not, Juggie. I need Polly here, she can’t leave. I don’t know how I’d deal being in this house without her, alone, with our parents…” she choked, shoulders shaking with the first sob. “And Jason… she says he loves her but I’ve _heard_ things, Jug. I’ve heard how the football team talk about girls, and I heard someone say how they’ve got this book where they keep score…” She took a pause to catch her breath. “I don’t like it.”

Jughead thought for a moment, his mouth moving before he could stop it. “We could kill him.” Betty stilled, her whole body going rigid at his side and _this is it,_ he thought _, it’s all over._ She lifted her head slowly, blinking at him in the darkness with impossibly wide, watery eyes. She was breath-taking when she cried.

“You’d do that? For me?” she whispered innocently and Jughead felt his heart squeeze.

“Anything,” he promised, finally capturing her lips with his. The taste of Betty Cooper’s blood in his memory made room for a brand new flavour – the taste of her tongue. “Anything.”


End file.
